Epilogue
Seventeen hours after the conclusion of the first part of the investigation – IA Baime's failure to discern the matter aboard his own ship will take longer to resolve – L2 Nell Jones stands at Attention before Deputy Grand Inquisitor Duane Cassius Pride. Seated behind Henrietta Lange's desk, the foot stool kicked out of his way, the tall man looks down upon the stiff Inquisitor. Lange's arrangement would leave her above eye level to the petite woman; Pride stares down upon her like Zeus reigning upon his Olympian throne.
Lange stands silent at his side.
"Have you anything more to add?"
Nell, back in her immaculate black and glittering silver uniform, cover tucked under her left arm, has held her Attention posture for so long that her spine begs for mercy, most of the plea coming toward the end of the report. Her legs had first ached, then hurt, then screamed and now shriek in agony while her feet, having born the unchanged pressure for so long, without even the risk of slight flexing, are numb. She cannot feel anything past her ankles, there may be nothing there by now, and when she does take her first step, if she ever does in this lifetime, it will be at best a spasmodic stagger.
Until the point where she and Kensi had come up behind Nickolaus Tigan her report had been detailed, complete and precise and she fought at the end to keep the same expression and tones as she had kept throughout.
It was exactly the story she had given Callen and Hanna, the strict truth except for who had done what, She stiffens her spine further, fights to maintain the perfect posture she'd adopted over an hour ago, for she knows that if her report contains any imperfection she will never come off Attention; the Enforcers in the corners of the room behind her will, at a signal from Pride, ensure that.
"No, Deputy."
"So in the end Inquisitor Kensi Blye, knowing she faced punishment, possibly Terminal Punishment if the information retrieved does not bring the Investigation forward, asked you to give her a quick death."
"Yes, Deputy Grand."
"And you did it."
"Yes, Grand Inquisitor." She'd hoped that if she continues in this line she can say something he likes, something to please his ego. Her problem is that she's run out of things.
Everything below her waist, with the exception of her spine, shrieks or is dead. Her spine feels ready to snap.
"And it did not occur to either of you that she might have faced an alternate fate."
"Sir, I cannot speak to the mind of Level One Inquisitor Blye. I could only obey her orders."
Silence.
Staring.
Pain.
Staring.
Silence.
"Very well. You acted properly, and such of the assignment as could be fulfilled has been. We will continue with San Diego. Meanwhile, as this facility needs three, at minimum, I promote you to Level One Inquisitor."
She wants to scream, to shriek, to gush like a schoolgirl and fights hard to bury her change of tone under a hill of boulders. "Thank you, Deputy Grand Inquisitor."
She can't help but notice, in the midst of her orgasmic joy and with a keenly developed sense of survival that Pride had not so much as glanced at Lange, standing at his side, before making his proclamation about her staff.
Pride signals to one of the black armored men who stand in the rear corners of the room. "Take her to where she can be outfitted in her golds."
"Yes, Deputy Grand," the man says.
Joy overwhelming the agony in her body, Nell manages to turn without staggering, her finally moving legs screeching in agony, and comes to bear upon the man before her.
Henrietta Lange's bodyguard Martin Deeks has not changed expression from his most common one but she realizes, in this single instant of contact before he moves to lead her off, that his cool, dead eyes are not so cool and not so dead.
.
.
*** Fin ***